


This is Why Tobirama Can't Get Anything Done

by notbug (KageKashu)



Series: Reconciliation-verse (or: Madara is kinda Crazy. Everyone's learning to live with it.) [1]
Category: Naruto
Genre: M/M, Madara is a trainwreck of a human being, Sorry Not Sorry, Unreliable Narrator, and Tobirama just goes with it, be kind, but I probably don't know what I'm doing, mild dubcon, my computer is stupid and doesn't spell check and I'm lazy, not my first smut, what he thinks is a go ahead isn't necessarily
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-30
Updated: 2018-03-30
Packaged: 2019-04-14 18:57:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 3,236
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14142450
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KageKashu/pseuds/notbug
Summary: Madara needs to learn a little self-control. To be fair though, Tobirama's bare neck really is that distracting.





	1. Madara's View

**Author's Note:**

  * Inspired by [Blue is a bad colour](https://archiveofourown.org/works/14033244) by [dahtwitchi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/dahtwitchi/pseuds/dahtwitchi). 



> *g* Have 1666 words of kinda slow smut that has no purpose other than to be smut. Also, have a couple headcanons that snuck in, assuming you can find them.

Madara still wasn’t sure why he was allowed in Tobirama’s home, but he shamelessly took advantage, knowing, deep down, that Hashirama wouldn’t think to look for him here. There was a pause, a moment of complete silence following his entrance, then, in the living space, the scratch of a pen against paper. Madara took a moment to lock the door behind him, and went to investigate. 

From behind, Tobirama was both morning-rumpled and fresh from bathing, hair drying just enough to begin its usual defiance of gravity. Madara would normally be amused, seeing a man usually so put together look so unready to face the day - the slump of his shoulders spoke plainly of weariness - but his eyes wanted to catch on the edge of the man’s yukata and go no further. To be fair, the back collar was hanging low enough to expose the knot where neck met shoulder, and the skin there was the same milky pale as the rest of him. 

The scratching of the pen didn’t stop for Madara’s stare, though Tobirama did tilt his head a little, as though looking questioningly over his shoulder. Madara couldn’t see his face from this angle, but didn’t care. He felt unbalanced, like he had been expecting something that wasn’t there, and found Tobirama sitting in its place. The exposed back of his neck was a taunt, and Madara _wondered_. 

Tobirama didn’t so much as stiffen at his approach, but the movement of the pen finally stilled when Madara dragged a gloved finger down the back of his neck and hooked it into the back of his yukata, dragging it down just a little bit further. Tobirama didn’t move. His breathing caught - likely surprise - but he neither leaned into the touch nor away. And Madara knew his own reputation for violence, knew that, at the best of times, Tobirama considered him crazy. 

Tobirama’s non-reaction to Madara laying hands on him... Madara wanted to think it meant that the man didn’t mind the touch, but they are shinobi. It was just as likely that he didn’t want to provoke a violent response. And Madara... He _hated_ himself, because he knew where this was going, and he was willing to take advantage of that, tugging cloth down to expose even more of Tobirama’s pale skin. 

“Madara?” The Senju’s voice was soft, questioning, _nonconfrontational_. He didn’t demand an answer, but gently probed for one, and Madara ignored the unspoken “What the hell are you doing?” that was expressed in the muscles coiling under Madara’s hand as he pushed the yukata off one shoulder. 

His breath hitched at the sight, and he dropped into a crouch behind Tobirama, tugging off his gloves so that on the next pass of his fingers he could feel more than just warmth. It seemed impossible that a grown man would have such soft skin, and Madara’s breath hitched again. The muscles beneath his hands tightened further when Madara leaned in, then forcibly relaxed when Madara’s lips touched the back of his neck. 

“Madara?” Tobirama’s voice wavered slightly, still soft, but there was an edge of wariness in it now. It was a good sound. Tobirama damn well should be wary of him. 

Madara paused, lips still pressed against the base of Tobirama’s neck. He wanted to push, to bite, but he held himself steady, breathing in the oily sweet scent of some kind of lotion for a long moment before opening his mouth to taste. Tobirama’s skin tasted clean, almost like nothing but water and the mild, inoffensive lotion, and Madara’s mouth closed on the meat of his shoulder, teeth dragging. 

There was a click in front of them, as Tobirama finally put his pen down, and Tobirama finally seemed to relax against him, with a slow, careful sigh. But Madara could see his hands on the table, fingers clenching and unclenching against the papers scattered there. He wasn’t as relaxed as the dip of his spine felt. 

It didn’t matter. What mattered was the skin under his teeth, the aborted sounds in Tobirama’s throat, the silver hair tickling the side of his face and the warmth pooling in his stomach. Slowly, he worked his mouth up Tobirama’s neck, the pull of his lips growing bolder with each passing second. He dug his fingers in where they rested - one hand still low on Tobirama’s arm, the other just starting to push into his hair, opposite of Madara’s mouth - and was rewarded with a bitten-off groan. 

“M-madara...” Thready now, with a definite edge of frustration. Madara smirked, dragged his mouth up behind Tobirama’s ear. He knotted his fingers in surprisingly silky strands and tugged, reached and gripped Tobirama’s hip with the other hand, scraped his teeth against the soft skin his mouth was pressed against. This time, he could hear the sound Tobirama made clearly. A ragged gasp, followed by an attempt to smooth out his breathing. 

Lust hit him like a punch to the gut, and before he realized he was moving, he had pushed Tobirama forward, bent over the low table, and was dragging his hand down his back, to his thighs. Tobirama landed on his elbows with a surprised grunt, but his back arched obligingly when Madara’s hands pushed up under his yukata and pulled his ass flush with Madara’s hips. 

Just that press was almost enough to undo him. It tore an ugly sound all the way up from his gut, but it felt so good. Madara hadn’t even realized he was that hard, but now it was all he could do to keep from rocking himself to completion without even undoing his pants. 

Tobirama was making little gasping noises, and scrabbling at the table, as though looking for something - something that was quickly passed back to Madara, once found. A jar of lotion, that carried that sweet oily scent he had already noticed. That. That was more than just easing the way. That was _permission_. 

The lotion was thicker than he had expected, almost buttery in texture, and it would be perfect for this. He curled his fingers into it, and once he was satisfied that he had enough coating them, immediately pressed them against Tobirama’s entrance, giving the muscle a bare instant to relax against intrusion. The aborted jerk Tobirama made was ridiculously satisfying, as was the way he fought between pulling away and pushing back. Even when he muttered something dire sounding under his breath. 

It was easy, pressing his fingers in, easy to push too fast into that heat, more intent on making room for himself than caring for Tobirama’s comfort. Tobirama just buried his face in his arms and took it, breath hitching in time with the press of Madara’s fingers. He should have known that Tobirama would be tight, never quite relaxing enough. Even when Madara pushed in three fingers, he just seemed to get tighter, in spite of rocking into the intrusion. And he was muttering still, though it was starting to sound like, “Get on with it already.” 

Cursing himself for not having already taken the time to undo his pants, and ignoring a huff that might have been laughter, he scrambled to do so with only one hand - not quite willing to pull his fingers free from Tobirama’s heat. Finally, his pants slid out of the way, and he pulled his busy hand free to wipe what little lotion remained on it onto his cock, shuddering at the feel of it. 

Not wanting Tobirama to have time to get used to being empty again, he lined up his cock and pushed in. And promptly curled over Tobirama, breathing hard into the tense line of his back. He was too tight, too hot, and it was amazing, and if Madara moved it was going to be over. Slowly, Tobirama began to relax under him, and Madara mouthed at the knobs of his spine as they both adjusted. 

He waited until Tobirama started shifting with impatience before moving, content for the moment, with the hot grasp around him. He rolled his hips experimentally, skimming one hand up Tobirama’s back and pinning him to the table. Judging by the growl that got, Tobirama wasn’t pleased, though it only took another thrust for the growl to cut off into a groan. 

A shuddered breath, and Madara grew rougher, still content to move slowly, though each roll of the hips, each clench of Tobirama’s body beneath him encouraged a harder response, wearing at his patience. Each breathless groan, each aborted attempt to meet Madara’s thrusts, the taste of skin in his mouth, the feeling of it dimpling beneath his teeth even as Tobirama tightened around him, muscles tensing under his hand, his mouth. 

He could feel Tobirama break under him, jerking in his hold, holding back a sharp cry. It was almost enough, the way Tobirama melted afterwards, still making breathy sounds. Madara pushed harder, deeper, chasing his end through Tobirama’s pliance. When it came it was lightning, there and gone in a rush of endorphins, leaving him gasping against Tobirama’s back, his vision taken up by the smooth expanse of pale skin blemished here and there by impassioned lips. 

Shame burned hotly in Madara’s gut as he pulled away, getting little more than an annoyed grunt from Tobirama, who didn’t even bother to straighten out his yukata, just turned to give Madara a - possibly - judgemental stare. “I suppose I’ll make tea,” he said, and the bastard didn’t even wobble as he stood. 

When he can’t explain himself, Madara has come to the conclusion that it was wisest to just keep his mouth shut, which was why, when Tobirama came back, they just settled into the most awkward of silences. At least, that’s how it felt on Madara’s end. Tobirama was unreadable at the best of times, and now he was particularly inscrutable, and was watching him. 

Still, he supposed, an orgasm followed by awkward silence was probably better than whatever it was that Hashirama wanted.


	2. Tobirama's View

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If it was anyone but Madara, Tobirama would have kicked them out. Not because he particularly liked Madara, no. He just doubted he would be successful.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, here it is! Another 1600 or so words of smut. :D This time, Tobirama's side of things.

Under most circumstances, Tobirama wouldn’t let just anyone waltz into his home. However... This was Madara. That wasn’t to say he particularly liked Madara, just that he knew how to choose his battles, and evicting Madara from his home wasn’t one he would win. If it had been nearly anyone else, Tobirama would have gotten up and marched them right back out. 

As it was, he kept his senses trained on the intruder, and didn’t allow the invasion of his privacy to deter his work. If it weren’t for the man’s sheer intensity, he could almost forget he was there. Instead, he was aware of Madara’s pinpoint focus. On the back of his neck. 

Tobirama frowned down at the papers he was working on. That sharp focus could mean any number of things, coming from Madara, most of which weren’t good. A glance back provided little clue as to the Uchiha’s emotional state - a blank stare, mouth slightly open, with a faint flush that could have been caused by any number of things. 

Then Madara moved, slinking forward with more grace than Tobirama would usually credit him with, until he was looming over him. Tobirama adjusted his grip on his pen, half expecting he would need to defend himself soon, but otherwise gave no sign he had even noticed the approach. 

Somehow, he hadn’t expected Madara to just... touch. To drag a finger down the back of his neck and pull his yukata - donned after the morning’s bathing routine - askew. 

He remained still, but for a catch in his breath, in spite of the chill that went down his spine at the touch. He _knew_ Madara. Knew how badly he sometimes reacted when things didn’t go perfectly his way. And in his current position, sitting seiza at the kotatsu, Tobirama was vulnerable - though the beginnings of an escape plan percolated in his mind for the event it became necessary. 

His tongue darted out, wetting dried lips as Madara tugged the back of his yukata down further. “Madara?” he asked, keeping his voice steady even as the cloth was pushed off his shoulder, leaving him feeling far more exposed than he wanted to be - more exposed than he would feel if he had just been naked from the start. It wasn’t a pleasant feeling. 

He couldn’t stop the way his back stiffened when Madara dropped into a crouch behind him. Madara must have taken a moment to remove his gloves, because when his hand returned, his fingers were bare, stroking down the back of his neck with a greedy fascination. As if that wasn’t enough, there was a press of lips against the back of his neck, and Tobirama forced himself to relax and breathe. 

“Madara?” He couldn’t quite keep his voice even this time, over the tension that filled his gut when Madara’s hand dragged thoughtlessly down his shoulder and arm. He could see where this was going, unless Madara suddenly decided he wasn’t interested any more, and didn’t know how to derail him without causing problems that would come down on his head later. 

He bit his lip at the feeling of Madara’s mouth against the back of his neck, sucking wet with a trace of teeth, dragging sideways to bite at his shoulder. His pen, which he had been clinging to like a potential weapon, slipped out of his hand. It wasn’t a _bad_ feeling - the heat steadily building in his gut could attest to that. 

He sagged into Madara’s hold, breathing out, slow and controlled. Maybe it would be good. So far, it had been. Madara’s mouth was relentless, working up Tobirama’s neck with little sucks and bites. His hair tickled Tobirama’s bare shoulder, and one hand worked into Tobirama’s hair and they both tightened, pulling a sound from Tobirama’s throat that was quickly bitten short. 

“M-madara...” He clenched his teeth against the sound of his own voice. Madara, the utter bastard, was smirking against his throat. Tobirama’s mouth dropped open on a loud, ragged inhale, when Madara’s fingers twisted sharply in his hair, and teeth scraped the soft flesh just under his jaw. 

Madara stilled for a heartbeat, then Tobirama found himself pushed face down into his papers, barely managing to keep his arms under him, with the rough drag of one of Madara’s hands moving down his back. Then both hands were on his thighs, sliding up under his yukata and tugging him up until his ass was flush with Madara’s fully clothed hips. 

He choked back an answering groan at the animalistic sound Madara made, heat working its way into his spine as Madara rocked against him. It took longer than it should for his mind to start working again, and when it did... One, that was good. Two, apparently this was happening, and it was happening fast, and if he wanted to be able to walk when the deed was done... Slick. They needed some kind of slick. Thankfully, there was one of his lotion jars already on the table, but even so it was almost out of reach. 

Madara took the jar without a word, breath hitching loudly, and wasted absolutely no time applying the contents - not unnecessarily rough, but relentless. Tobirama muttered a curse and nearly jerked away when Madara didn’t bother to start slow, just pressed two fingers right in. It was... Tobirama wasn’t sure. Even his body didn’t seem to know what to do with the conflicting signals, when the press of Madara’s fingers rode the edge of pleasure and pain. 

And he didn’t stop, didn’t give Tobirama a chance to adjust to it, so he buried his face in his arms, and let his knees slide a little further apart, and tried to breathe. Tried not to curse, because Madara kept pushing, and then there were three fingers, pressing and curling and not quite where he wanted them no matter how he rocked back. He buried a plea in his elbow, because he was _not_ going to beg, no matter how good it felt, and instead growled for Madara to hurry up already. 

Then Madara was cursing, because he was still wearing pants, and Tobirama tried not to laugh, because he’d been half naked from the start, and the only thing Madara had taken off was his _gloves_. Madara’s fingers pulled away, and Tobirama barely had the chance to miss them before Madara pressed his cock in, bigger and heavier and _hotter_ than Madara’s fingers, only to curl over Tobirama, gasping like it was too much. 

Tobirama chewed on his lip, letting his body get used to the intrusion and slowly relaxing under Madara’s weight. Madara mouthed at his spine, while his hair tickled patterns all over his back, but otherwise didn’t move. He didn’t move until Tobirama squirmed, tempted to take matters into his own hands. 

Finally, Madara’s hips shifted into a languid roll, and he skimmed one hand up to pin Tobirama down against the table. He growled at that, annoyed, only to have the thought shatter when Madara thrust again. And again, and again. He didn’t move faster, not right away, but steadily put more power into the motion until it was all Tobirama could do to brace himself against the table and hang on. 

The rough drag and slide of Madara’s cock was more than enough, in and of itself. The fingers digging into his hips, teeth on the edge of his spine - Tobirama held back a cry, shuddered and clenched his eyes closed as orgasm overwhelmed him without even being properly touched. He melted bonelessly into the aftermath, absently noting Madara’s unsteadiness, and made what he hoped were encouraging sounds. 

Madara jerked to a stop, gasping against Tobirama’s back as he came. His fingers twitched absently against Tobirama’s hips, and he nuzzled at Tobirama’s back as he came down from his orgasm. Eventually, he seemed to come back to himself. And the first thing he did was jerk back as though burned. 

... There went the afterglow. 

In spite of his initial reaction, Madara was gentle and oddly self-conscious - which was not how he generally was around Tobirama - when he pulled himself free, and unsurprisingly, refused to actually meet Tobirama’s eyes. Shame or guilt, Tobirama suspected, mildly annoyed. As if the entire thing hadn’t been completely in Madara’s control. 

“I suppose I’ll make tea,” he said, tone mild, and rolled to his feet, the ache and the mess ignorable. He cleaned himself off while the water was set to heat, and promised himself a proper bath later to rid himself of any lingering effects. By the time he returned to sit back in his usual space, Madara was sitting on the opposite side of the table, rolling the jar of lotion around in his hands. 

For once, Madara didn’t attempt to break the silence, just accepted his tea with a hunted look and allowed Tobirama to return to his paperwork - now fully dressed. 

Tobirama wondered if Madara would ever actually tell him what this visit had been about, because he was fairly certain that Madara didn’t come here with sex in mind... which was almost as flattering as Madara’s reaction post coitus _hadn’t been_. Impulse sex wasn’t usually something he did, and he wasn’t sure he had _ever_ had such an inconsiderate lover - not that he considered Madara any such thing. 

It was probably a good thing he was a bit of a masochist.

**Author's Note:**

> I'm more than willing to take constructive criticism. Since I haven't written much smut, don't expect it to be that great. Now with Bonus! Tobirama's Side of Things!


End file.
